


perfectly delivered lies

by manquant



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/F, this starts with angst and hopefully ends on hilarity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 19:56:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13531434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manquant/pseuds/manquant
Summary: Tally of pre-war damages and snippets of a connection so deep and lasting, it spans the multiverse.





	perfectly delivered lies

_Nine weeks ago_ , an ornate package materialized in the transporter room.

A secure delivery for the captain from Vulcan. It’s not actually for her, per se.

Amanda Grayson, Michael’s mother, intuitively sends carefully prepared essentials for the daughter serving on Shenzhou for seven years now. As per Michael’s wishes, it goes through the break room’s mailbox so as to conceal any favors for the ambassador’s foster. Not that the crew minds, in her opinion. If anything, they’re generally in awe their Commander is doted on this much.

It’s heavier this time of the year. A trove of new old books, perhaps. While cleaning the Georgiou heirloom telescope with the new formulation, a small token of a mother’s appreciation to her daughter’s mentor, she summons Burnham via her communicator.

Can’t wait for that glimmer of an excited beaming to rush to this ready room.

 

_Nine hours ago_ , Burnham was waiting outside her quarters.

She could’ve knocked but instead, she’s got that look of mentally rehearsing tri-dimensional chess moves for when there’s enough time to resume their previous match.

But that is not the reason for the social call. Dressed primly, the visit is more of a habit her Number One formed, joining her morning tea over the years.

Back when Philippa was still wooing her latest ward, she’d fill the measured silence between steeping with stories of her first, her beloved Angeles. Michael, try as she might, can’t conceal her eagerness to listen to these grounded tales of dearly written poems and carefree dances. Who could blame her, she herself was far from the respected and generously decorated starship-owning captain back then but her civilian wife’s charms more than compensated for both of them. And frankly, rubbed off on her current disposition. She wouldn’t presume on her Commander’s upbringing; still, no harm in regaling her with such nice vignettes from her S.O.’s personal history.

Philippa’s eyes crinkle as a welcoming smile shone at Michael.

 

_Nine minutes ago_ , she could barely keep up the façade.

Her hands are visibly trembling as she held her Number One at phaser gunpoint. Yes, she’s pretty much livid at Michael and the usage of her affection in a disarming attempt. As if they haven’t been sparring before.

It was a cheat, a desperate one. And while evidently sincere, hastily decided upon.

Hence, instead of being wholly subdued, she was able to will her body – immense numbing pain, none withstanding – to catch up before the order making the mutiny official was carried through. She’s trying to prevent this from being indelibly recorded into the starship logs but alas, Burnham won’t back down.

As expected.

She is also just been through a wringer of a sanctioned “fly-by” and if the young woman's this determined not to concede, Philippa knows there’s only one solution to grasp the control back: detain Burnham in the Brig. Her Commander can go reflect on her impulsiveness back there.

Michael and her brimming tears instantly seared an afterimage as she was dragged away.

Philippa looks away, wishing to have unseen the lingering sorrow. Now’s not the time to feel informal sentiments.

There’s an entire battalion of threat her trusty old ship’s facing. More and more likely, alone.

 

* * *

 

 All that flashed in the microsecond before Saru completed his enumeration of the present extent of the hull breach.

The severe reality the just-reported facts indicate crashes down.

A Starfleet captain should never be caught unaware in the midst of a battle – a heated, unforgiving one with Klingon forces of all foes – she has no other reason for the half-reverie other than finding ground. And yet, now, her starship, just like her relationship with her Michael, compromised.

It’ll be a Hail Mary to prevent both from being entirely lost causes but Philippa Georgiou’s sure, more than anything, she’ll be damned trying.

 

* * *

  

_Nine days later_ , a mini-transmission unit of the funeral arrived in the Starfleet’s traitor solitary containment cell. She didn’t even deign herself worthy of such gesture but as if reading her very guilt, Keyla Detmer’s handwriting on the accompanying note scathingly chided her back. Wasn't she just out of reconstructive surgery?

> This service was an empty show. Her remaining family can’t attend because of volatile space flight conditions. You never even faced the remainder of our crew when Saru tried his hardest to get you back safe. So, watch this yourself. Captain Georgiou would’ve heard you out better than that council.

**_Did I even tell her... Philippa... enough that I... that she's my—_**  

Clenching her left hand into a fist until the pain ebbed away to a dull sensation, Michael presses play and a hologram of a forlorn Kelpien gives his eulogy.

 

_Nine months had passed_.

Caught in the middle of one of, if not the bleakest satire of the known universe, musing that gambling her sanity and life for a chance to return to what exactly.

NO.

She must. Carry on. Peacetime is almost at their grasp, if only she'll be able to outsource the coordinates home.

A scoff. 'cause that last word doesn't have the same ring, anymore.

Just when Michael Burnham thought that signature hopeful glow was assuredly fleeting farther away from recollection in the same way all the precious memories she’s been gifted with the last seven years are going, she’s faced with a reunion.

Of sorts.

**Author's Note:**

> First time fic-writing in a looong while. Might as well take off the dust since I finally finished this one I've been working on since November. And, fingers crossed, I finish the other, decidedly more fun half before next week dashes my dreams once more. (What? My trust issues-ridden self is only setting bar on the ground so I will be hurt less.)


End file.
